


Tears Before Bedtime

by Vilakins



Category: Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilakins/pseuds/Vilakins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why were there tears on Eugenides' and Irene's wedding night?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears Before Bedtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Belle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle/gifts).



> A Yuletide treat. I had just finished reading _The King of Attolia_ when I saw this pinch hit. How could I resist?

The queen and the new king of Attolia stood in the queen's golden bedchamber, alone at last after all the ceremonies and oaths, and regarded each other. Eugenides smiled and sketched a bow. "My queen."

She did not smile. She stood, regal, beautiful, and unbending. "My king."

Eugenides winced.

"My thief, then."

"Oh, am I?"

"You are now." She tilted her head slightly. "Why did you turn me down when I offered you the position?"

"I could say that you weren't kind--"

The queen stiffened, her face hardening. "And you did."

"--but then, neither am I." Eugenides gave a shrug and sank into one of the delicate chairs, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. "But the truth is, I wanted you on equal terms."

Her eyes were dark and unfathomable. "You begged to be my thief later."

Eugenides sat up, surprised that she would mention that night when she'd had his right hand amputated and everything had changed. "Why not? I wanted to stay who I was. And what I was."

"And haven't you?"

"No." Eugenides smiled slightly.

"Some people are improved by misfortune." The queen stepped forward and lightly touched his black hair where it curled over his ear.

Eugenides turned his head so that her hand was on his cheek. "I'm not. I sulk," he said with a distinct lack of shame. He looked up at her. "You must have hated me," he said conversationally. "You were going to kill me. And you almost did, as a matter of fact."

The queen was silent.

"Why?"

He could barely hear her suddenly husky and bitter voice. "Because you were free."

And he remembered that night when he'd sat as a boy and watched her dance with an imaginary partner in the garden below. "You can do anything you like," he said, knowing it was a lie. "You know you can do anything you like with me," he said, being more truthful.

The queen still did not smile. "Up," she said, taking his left hand and pulling him to his feet. He was a few inches shorter (and a few years younger) than her, slender and almost beautiful with his his boyishly curling hair and dark, smooth face, marred only by a scar on a cheek.

He reached out to touch her ruby earrings, the ones he'd secretly left as a gift beside her bed while she slept, then gently lifted the matching ruby headband from her shining black hair, so that she was Irene and not the queen.

She placed her hand on his chest, and said as if she'd read his mind. "If you want to be equal, Gen, you must be king."

"I thought I was."

"You know what I mean."

"All those boring audiences and paperwork?" Eugenides said lightly. "No thanks. I'll just rest on my laurels. Nice word for a fundamental part of one's anatomy."

Irene held his eyes with hers. "But what if I want that equality too? Someone I can trust."

"You already have Relius."

"He's my secretary of the archives."

"You mean your spymaster."

"But he's not my partner."

"Ah."

Irene hesitated. "Be my king, Gen."

He knew how hard it was for her to ask. Instead of answering, he said, "Do you love me? You never said."

"I know you now."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes." It was a whisper.

Eugenides brushed his lips across hers, as gently as if she were porcelain, and took her right hand with his left. "I will dance with you," he said, "all our lives."

She smiled at last, and the tears fell.

"My Irene," he said, and leaned in and embraced her and touched his own wet cheek to hers.

And as they turned in a slow dance, a slight chill touched him as he realised just how the gods might take that promise.


End file.
